Days Of An Auror
by Munsje
Summary: How did the Order Of The Phoenix start? What happened in the Ministry when Voldemort first showed up? What was Alastor like before he lost his eye and his nose? Read, find out and leave a review :) UPDATED
1. Prologue

**Days Of An Auror**

_Encaitaire_

_Author's Note_: I've posted this story before, somewhat different and under the penname 'munsje'. Now, almost a year later (I believe even longer), I'm reposting it.  
Now it cooperates better with the new information that was given in the fifth book and I've changed a whole lot of the plotline. I just wasn't satisfied with the first draft (that's why I never updated).  
Enjoy '_Days Of An Auror_', a story 'bout the first reign of Voldemort, and I hope you will leave a review.

**Prologue**

"Disciplinary hearing of the nineteenth of December, 1982. The accused, Sam Smith, is charged off the following crimes: passing through secret information of the Ministry of Magic to He Who Must Not Be Named and his followers, use of magic in front of Muggles and use of the unforgivable curses.  
"Interrogaters: Millicent Bagnold, Minister of Magic, Bartolemus Crouch, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and Albus Percival Wulfric Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry."  
For a long time nothing was heard in the room, and Sam had the time to look around. It had been a long time since he had been at the Ministry. Such a long, long time. It felt good to be back. His arms were chained to the chair, and though he couldn't see them, he felt the presence of the two Dementors behind him.  
"The accused is responsible for the murder on Abigail Iris Whittaker, chaser of the English Quidditch Team the Wimbourne Wasps."  
Perhaps all he had done had been a mistake. After all, it hadn't been his intention to cause all this, especially the death of Abigail. The Wizengamot looked down upon him, their eyes filled with hatred and anger. He didn't care, the entire Wizengamot was now acting like they were saints, but in all the years that Voldemort had reigned, at least half of them hadn't lifted a finger to try and stop him.  
At least Sam had tried, yes he had failed, and yes he had done the exact opposite of his actual job description, but he _had_ tried. That was more credit than he could give them!  
"You are Sam Smith Junior?" Crouch asked.  
"Yes," Sam asked, he never understood why they asked this question during a hearing, whom else could he be?  
"And you are aware that the use of the unforgivable curses is not allowed and could give you a life sentence in Azkaban?"  
"Yes."  
"You know that it is not allowed to perform magic in front of Muggles?"  
"Fully aware, sir," he said, in a bored tone.  
"At the time, were you aware that you gave restricted information that should be kept within the walls of the Ministry to You Know Who?"  
Sam wasn't sure what he should say to that. Yes, he had been fully aware. He had known the consequences, why he had done it and most of all, he had known it was wrong. But admitting this, would mean that he would be locked up in Azkaban for good.  
Not that he deserved any better.  
He looked at the only man to find an answer, to see if his life was worth saving. He looked straight at his best friend, Alastor Moodey. But when Moodey caught his glace, he just send him a nasty look, before turning away. Sam knew it then. No one cared about him anymore, he had messed up. Betraying the Ministry was one thing, but betraying your friends was far, _far_ worse.  
He deserved the Kiss.  
"Yes," he said softly, almost whispering.  
Crouch bowed forward and said loudly, "excuse me, mr. Smith, but I didn't quite catch that, what did you say?"  
Sam felt his temper rising, but suppressed it. He deserved this. Hell, he deserved much worse than this. "Yes," he repeated, "yes, I knew. The Dark Lord hadn't tricked me, he hadn't manipulated me in any way. I did it, because at that time, I felt it was the right thing to do, that perhaps the cause that he was fighting for was the right one."  
Someone on the tribunes began to cry, and by the sound of it, he knew it was his mother.  
"So because you agreed with him, you decided that the best thing to do was torture and murder others of _our_ kind?"  
"No," Sam said. "No. That was not the case."  
"Than what _was_ the case," Crouch enquired.  
"I didn't kill Abbey, I loved her," the tears started to well in his eyes, "I didn't mean too... she was just at the wrong place at the wrong time. I was in the same room when it happened, true, but I didn't do it. And if it had been possible, I would have stopped them. I hardly ever used the unforgivable curses, unless the situation required them. I was just trying to survive, sir. I was..." His voice broke and he looked away.  
The atmosphere in the room became even more grim, if this was possible, and some of the wizards started to murmur.  
"No situation requires the use of the unforgivable curses," Bagnold spat, "and even if you hadn't used them, you deserve a lifetime in Azkaban just for betraying the Ministry. You were an _auror_, mr. Smith, an auror! One assigned to locate and take out You Know Who."  
Sam lowered his head, he felt so ashamed, but none of them understood.  
"Sam," Dumbledore's soft voice suddenly spoke up, "what happened? Why did you join him?"  
Yes, what _had_ happened?  
"I don't know," Sam replied, "I don't know, professor. It happened so fast. I never meant for this to happen, you must believe me."  
Crouch snorted, "yes, that's what they all say. Damn Death Eaters, they deserve to die, each and every one of them!"  
A lot of wizards nodded in contempt and even Sam had the urge to nod.  
"Tell us what happened, Sam. All of it," Dumbledore continued. "At least Moodey has the right to know."  
He hesitated, he wasn't sure what good it would do, he was certain that it would only anger the Wizengamot more. They wouldn't understand, they wouldn't believe him. But Alastor would. Alastor may hate him, he may despise him, but they were still friends. He would believe Sam.  
So he drew a deep breath and started to talk.


	2. The MLEP

**Chapter 1  
The M.L.E.P.**

Sam wanted to become an Auror more than anything in the world, it was his wish. It was his main goal in life. The problem was that in Hogwarts, he had never been a model student. When he graduated, he left with average grades and the thing was that when you wanted to become an Auror you had to be top of the class, or at least something close to it. And from the five needed NEWTs, he only had three.  
This didn't stop him, though, from trying. His mother always used to say "You've got no, you can have yes".  
He had arranged a meeting with the head of the Aurors, Mr. Dominus, and decided to use his 'boyish charm' to try and persuade the man into hiring him. He knew that the odds were against him, and that he would probably get laughed at, but he had to try. He had to know. He didn't want to wake up as an old man, wondering if he could have done it, if he'd only tried.  
So here he was, in the office of Mr. Dominus. A rather old, balding man wearing a large, pointy hat. Probably hoping that this way, no one would notice the fact that he had hardly any hair left. Sam had spent the last hour of giving several arguments for why he should be accepted into Auror training, all the while trying to divert the man's attention from his school results. Until now, this had worked.  
Unfortunately, when Sam was close to convincing the old man (or at least, he thought so), Dominus said: "You graduated from Hogwarts last year, did you not?"  
Sam silently cursed. He knew what was coming next. They would discuss the topic of how many OWLs he had, and most importantly how many NEWTs. What his teachers thought of him and whether in the end, everything was up to standard to get into training. He nodded.  
Dominus dipped his quill in a bowl of ink and rested it on the piece of parchment, "how many NEWTs?" he asked.  
Sam cleared his throat. "Well... you see.. Three." He cleared his throat again and suddenly seemed very interested in the photograph of Dominus and Minister Bagnold.  
The head of the Aurors looked over his glasses and slowly shook his head. "Sam, Sam, Sam," he said slowly, "I'm sorry, but three NEWTs? That's not good enough! You need five, at the very least."  
He put his quill away and leaned back in his chair. There was no way that he could hire this boy. Even though he was the son of a brilliant Auror.  
"But please, sir, just let me do one test, I will prove to you that I'm worthy enough..."  
Mr. Dominus shook his head again, but this time with more determination, "We only hire the best of the best. We don't just take every student that comes into this office, certainly when the grades are not even up to the needed standard."  
"Sir," said Sam, sounding desperate, "I'll do anything, _anything_. You name it and I'll do it. If you want me to jump of a cliff, I'll jump, if you want..."  
"There's no need for you to jump of a cliff, dear boy. You won't be much use then!" Dominus interrupted. He looked at Sam, narrowing his eyes. There were, of course, other ways to still be allowed to get in Auror Training if the grades were not good enough but you still showed a lot of potential. And somehow, he found that the boy in front of him indeed showed some potential. And even if he was just half as good as his father was, he would be a great help.  
'_Besides_,' Dominus reminded himself, '_We need all the help we can get_.' Yes, he was certain that he should give him a chance.  
"But I admire your motivation, so I'll help you a little here." Sam was about to sigh with relief, but the man quickly raised his hand, "hold your horses their, I don't think you'll be as happy after you've heard me out. Here's what I'm going to do. I'll station you with the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol."  
"What?" Sam cried out, "but..."  
"You will stay their for at least five years." He continued, ignoring Sam completely, "If you will prove yourself to be worthy and a good worker, I will _consider_ taking you into Auror-training."  
This certainly wasn't what the young man had hoped to hear, for a moment their was only silence in the office, as Sam thought it all through. This meant that it would take another eight years - _at least_ - for him to become an Auror, he would be 26 by then and he wasn't even sure of his position. What would his father have to say about this?  
"Take it or leave it, boy," Dominus said, "you should be lucky with this opportunity. Most people who left Hogwarts with the same grades as you, never have any chance of having a career in this profession."  
"OK," Sam said, before he realized it, "OK."  
"Good, than I'll see you back in five years."

* * *

"How did it go?" His father asked.  
He was standing in the kitchen, trying to cook dinner 'the Muggle way' but as always failed miserably. At the moment, Sam's father was in one of his phases where he swore of magic, unless the use of it was inevitable. He said that using magic for everything you did made you lazy and made you underestimate the power of it.  
Sam only grunted in reply. He got off his chair, deciding it was best to help his father in his cooking, or it would really turn out to be a disaster. And considering that he had to eat it, no matter what, it was best to 'save the day'.  
"Didn't get the job, heh? Guess your mother was glad to hear that," Senior said, slightly grinning, taking a step backwards so his son had more room.  
"Haven't told her yet," Sam replied shortly. "But not all is lost. He said that if I do my best in the Patrol for five years straight, I may have a chance of becoming an Auror after all."  
"That's nice of that old man," Senior said, nodding. But than he gave Sam a disapproving look, "I always told you to make your homework and do your best in school, but you just never wanted to listen to me, did you?"  
Sam decided that the wisest thing to do, was to ignore this comment. It wasn't like he never did his homework, he just didn't do it all the time. And exams were just a waist of time, if you asked him. Besides, he always scored high enough to pass the year - so what was the big deal anyways?  
"I just need to find myself an apartment near the Ministry, considering that I can't apparate and all."  
Another exam that he had failed miserably.  
"That would mean you'd have to live in a Muggle neighbourhood!" his father said, in shock, "can't you just redo the test?" Even though Senior didn't approve of using magic 24/7, contact with Muggles was out of the question. He'd nearly had a heart attack when he'd heard that his sister - Sam's aunt - was about to marry a _Muggle_.  
According to him, Muggles and Wizards just didn't mix well and each should stay with its own kind.  
Sam gave him a look and Senior sighed. "Very well then. You do what you think is best. But don't you dare come back in this house, telling me you're going to marry one of them bloody Muggles!"  
Sam shook his head slowly and concentrated on dinner.

* * *

Everyone in entire England knew that everyone who worked with the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, were actually failed aurors. They were the ones stuck with the jobs that were beneath the Aurors to solve. Sam knew that the next five years of his life would be anything but exciting, but he was willing to do it, if it meant that he had a better shot to become what he had always dreamt of.  
"Damn," Mark - a 22-year-old employee of the M.L.E.P., whom had been a Head Boy in Sam's time at Hogwarts but lacked the ambition to do anything more important than working here - cursed, "you can't be serious, Perkins."  
"Dead serious, Mr. Paresse."  
"You want me to go after some guy for a practical joke?"  
Sam grinned widely. In the time he'd spent here, Mr. Perkins always contacted them about the most ridiculous of things that they should solve. Mr. Perkins worked at the Improper Use Of Magic office, at the department of 'Misuse Of Muggle Artefacts' to be more exact. He always came by, telling them that a Muggle was unable to remove his underwear because someone had put a spell on it, or that someone had put a hex on a Muggle mail box so it spat out every letter that was deposited in it.  
"He broke the law," Perkins said, somewhat shocked that Mark didn't find it as horrible as he did, "He sold a bottle of Never-Ending-Vodka to a _Muggle_, and you and I both know..."  
"... that Muggles are not to get in touch with anything magical," Mark said in a bored tone, as if he had heard this speech a thousand times before. (And truth be told he had, because old Perkins repeated it at least three times a day - or more if the occasion asked for it.)  
"Not to mention," the man said, "that it is not a practical joke at all because this poor Muggle now lies in the Hospital."  
"Well, that's not the salesman's responsibility," he said smoothly, "if I remember correctly, it is a 33-year old man, and it is his own responsibility to put the bottle away on time. You can't possibly ask from us to charge the wizard from causing this man to drink to much."  
"Well, if the Muggle had known that it was Vodka that never ran out he might have..."  
"Perkins, I get the picture," Mark said annoyed. "I'll send someone over, but don't expect to much from it."  
This seemed to satisfy the wizard, who wore an old, worn robe that was just to short and revealed some of his shins, his hear tossled in every possible direction and his eyes somewhat watered due to his age. Sam guessed him to be around sixty or seventy years old, perhaps even older. He left the office, returning to his own, without even daring a glance into the direction of Sam, who just a few steps away.  
Mark did look at him, and his smile was almost honey-sweet.  
"No," Sam said, "You go. Of the three months I've been here, this has been the most ridiculous assignment yet."  
"Well then," Mark crossed his arms, "I guess I'll just go to Dominus to say that you are not showing enough motivation for this job, therefore you could never..."  
"Alright, alright!" he said swiftly, "I'll go, but next time it'll be your turn."  
Mark smirked and turned around to talk with another colleague.  
Sam turned around to get his cloak, softly muttering under this breath. Just four years and nine months to go...

* * *

He crossed another month from his calendar and looked over his booth, "hey, Paresse."  
"What?" Mark said, without looking up from his paperwork.  
"Anything interesting to do today?"  
He knew the answer, of course. There was never anything 'interesting' to do around here. Not that he hated his job, in fact - even though he hated to admit it - he had started to love his job at the Patrol. He had friends here, and the work was fun. Even though his jobs weren't all that and he never saved any lives or the world, it was satisfying.  
"Perkins starts at eight, so we have ten minutes left of freedom," his friend muttered. "How much time d'you have left here?"  
"One year and one month," Sam said proudly, "than I'm off to Auror-training." If he was accepted, that was. But that was not the way to look at it. He'd read somewhere once, that as long as you believed long and hard enough in something, it would come true. A 'self-fulfilling prophecy' of some sort. This could, of course, also work the other way. If you truly believed that you were going to fail, you would.  
So he spent every day trying to convince himself in various ways that he was _not_ going to fail.  
Mark sighed, "and I'll still be stuck in this damn office."  
"That's your own fault," Sam pointed out, "if you'd just show some effort, you'd become the Minister of Magic with ease." His friend chose wisely not to reply to this and got the Daily Prophet from under his pile of papers. "I'm guessing that without much effort, this job will get a whole lot more interesting in just a few months."  
"How come?" Sam wanted to know.  
Mark raised the Prophet and pointed at one of the article.

'_**ANOTHER WITCH FOUND DEAD**  
Special report by Annabel Écrivain_

_Mrs. M. Cokato was found dead in Knockturn Alley last night. Mrs. Cokato just turned 45 years old and worked as an Auror at the Ministry of Magic. It is not the first attack that is held against one of the employees of the department of magical law enforcement. Apparently, Cokato was....._'

"Excuse me." Dominus heavy voice filled the office.  
Sam spun around so fast he nearly fell of his chair, so he spent a few minutes trying to regain his balance before he spoke up. "Sir," he said surprised. "I didn't expect to see you for another 385 days."  
"Damn," Mark whispered, "you're even keeping track of the days?"  
Sam shot him a death glare.  
"People are being murdered and you two are wasting your time reading the _Daily Prophet_?" Dominus said angrily, "that is not the kind of attitude one would expect from people working in this department!"  
"Well," Mark muttered, blushing, "usually we only get jobs from Perkins, sir. We only do as we're told... and since he doesn't start..." he checked the clock, "... for another three minutes, we figured that we might as well take some time off!"  
"Fine," Dominus barked, "if you don't have anything to do Mr. Paresse, you just have to knock on my door and I've got a ton of things for a man of your caliber to do. At this point, I want the two of you to go to Knock Turn Alley. And if you're not at that exact location in one stinking minute, both of you will never work again!"  
"Enough said," Mark said cheerfully, glad that he finally had an assignment worth doing, and without further ado he disapparated. Sam got his cloak and was about to walk to the elevator, hoping that Dominus wouldn't say anything, when the man called after him. "Smith, what the hell do you think you're doing?"  
"I'm going to the Atrium, sir, I need to take one of the fireplaces to Knockturn Alley."  
"You're traveling by floo powder? Are you insane? That will take much more of our time. Just disapparate."  
"I would, sir," Sam said quietly, "If I hadn't failed my apparation test..."  
For a moment it was dead quiet, while the face of the older man turned tomato red. "EXCUSE ME? You failed your _apparation test_?"  
"I have a perfectly well explanation for that, really, I do. You see, the day that I had to take..."  
"JUST SHUT UP AND LEAVE," Dominus shouted, "I don't care if you failed the damn test or not. You disapparate to Knockturn Alley right this minute or you will never become an Auror."  
After those words, he himself disapparated, leaving a very confused and shocked Sam behind.

* * *

_'Well, I could've done worse_,' Sam comforted himself, as he found himself in Diagon Alley. '_At least I'm _near_.'  
_He took a run for it, and reached Knockturn Alley in a matter of seconds, where Mark was already waiting for him. "We have to interrogate the witnesses and we are not to go near the crime scene."  
"What witnesses?" Sam asked, slightly confused, "not the Cokato-murder, I hope? That happened last night!"  
Mark shot him a look, "complaining, Sammy-boy? You should be glad that we got the job. Had we stayed in the Ministry one second longer, and we would be off investigating toilets 'cause some stupid Muggle got flummoxed, meanwhile our 'dear' friend Elmer would do the exact thing we're doing right now."  
"I'm not complaining," Sam protested, "I'm just saying."  
Elmer was their main competition, at least in the eyes of Mark and Sam. He was the only one on the Patrol who was about their age - being 24 years old - and he always miraculously seemed to be able to avoid any assignment given by Perkins and end up with all the good ones handed out by Dominus.  
Not that the Patrol ever got any major assignment, but everything was better than one of Perkins's.  
"You two," someone barked, Sam looked around and recognized the face of the famous Alastor Moodey, his father's sworn enemy. His father and Moodey were the best Auror's (if you took their own word, that was) out there, and they both hated each other's guts. Sam smiled, his father would jump into the roof when he found out that his own son was working with his archenemy.  
"This woman was their at the time of the murder. So, ask some questions." After that he strode away.  
"Not a man of many words," Mark mumbled, as he walked towards the somewhat shaken woman. "Good morning, ma'am. Would it be alright if my friend and I asked you a few questions about the incident of last night?"  
"Of course," the woman said and smiled sweetly. She was rather young, twenty at most. She had long, black hair, reaching to her middle and it curled slightly. Her eyes were big and innocent.  
"Can you state your name and profession?"  
"My name is Annabel Écrivain," she said, "I graduated last year from Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I have several jobs at the moment, should I name them all?"  
Écrivain... Where had Sam heard that name before?  
"One will suffice," Mark said shortly, not wanting to spend to much time on paperwork.  
"I clean at the Leaky Cauldron," she said, blushing slightly. "Are you an Auror, you seem very young to be one."  
"We're from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol," Sam said.  
"Really?" She said, her voice turning honey-sweet, "That's wonderful! So you work at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement."  
"It would seem so, yes," Mark cut her short, "but let's continue. What were you doing in Knockturn Alley in the middle of the night?"  
"Walking home from work," Annabel said.  
"Through Knockturn Alley," Sam said disbelievingly, "at your age, all by yourself?"  
Annabel shrugged, "It's the only way I can get home... I live there. I don't have much money and the rooms their are cheap. But tell me, sir, a lot of wizards working in your apartment have been killed during the last few months, what are your feelings on that?"  
"It's the risk of working there, ma'am," Mark exchanged glances with Sam, there was something not right about her.  
She noticed the somewhat annoyed tone of Mark and thus she turned to the other young man, and asked, trying to smile seductively, "are you scared?"  
"Of what?"  
"Of being killed, of course!"  
"Lady," Sam said, trying to sound friendly, "we work at the M.L.E.P., all we do all day is sit at our desk, secretly hoping that Perkins from the Misuse Of Magical Artifacts will stop by to give us something to do. We rarely end up in life-threatening situations and we certainly aren't important enough to be 'brutally murdered', as you put it. So, no, I'm not afraid.  
"But we're not here to talk about our lives at the Patrol, we're here to talk about the murder on Mrs. Cokato, so, please, be so friendly to cooperate."  
"I'm sorry," Annebl said swiftly, "I won't bother you with my questions any longer. Continue your questioning."

* * *

'_**THE DEPARTMENT OF MAGICAL LAW ENFORCEMENT IS FAILING  
**Special Report by Annabel Écrivain_

_Even though entire England has faced sudden, strange deaths of employees of the Ministry and people are disappearing in thin air, the D.M.L.E. still isn't putting their employees to work.  
Sam Smith jr., a young employee of the Patrol, stated the following last night:  
"All we do all day is sit at our desk, hoping that someone will stop by to give us something to do."  
He complained that employees at the Patrol were not seen as important enough to do the important work._...'

"NEED I CONTINUE?" Dominus roared.  
Sam could have slapped himself for the head for this, no, better said, he would have jumped straight of a building. "I didn't know that she was a reporter," he said desperately, "plus, that was not what I said at all!"  
"Than why does she write it in the damn newspaper!" Dominus said, narrowing his eyes.  
"OK, so I may have said something similar, but in a whole different context. She asked me if I was afraid to get killed, and I said that I couldn't get killed 'cause I work at the Patrol and..."  
"All you do is sit at your desk, hoping that someone will stop by to give you something to do," the old man cut in smoothly, "yes, I've read that part."  
"No, that was not what I said. I said that we always waited for Perkins to give us something to do, because no one else does, it's not like you stop by our office every day to give us an interesting..."  
"That's because your in the damn Patrol! You're not good enough for something interesting!" Dominus shouted, "because you didn't get the damned needed grades to become something important."  
"I know that well enough, sir," said Sam, trying to restrain himself, "but that we are not the best and smartest wizards out there, doesn't mean we're losers either. I'm satisfied with the job I have right now. Sure, I want to be an Auror, but if it doesn't work out, fine, I'll just stay with the Patrol. There is only one tiny thing that bothers me, in the four years I've worked there, this is the first time that you ever requested anything from us. Other than that, we just sat there, watching time pass by us, and all we had to do was help old mr. Perkins catching wizards that aren't worth catching.  
"While people were killed by some freaking wizard that everyone's talking about lately, while the Dark Mark keeps appearing more and more, we just sit there. We all want to help, we all want to give some assistance, but no one is asking us, no one is telling us to do so. Yet you never here us complain.  
"Once I talk about it. Just once, and it accidentally ends up in the Prophet, all mixed up and torn out of its context, but it isn't less true. Don't get angry at me, because some reporter published the damn truth."  
It was the first and last time that Sam ever held such a speech to Mr. Dominus, because the outburst that followed afterwards was something that scared the hell out of Sam for good, he never looked at the old man the same way.  
He had no idea what Dominus said, he just caught some phrases like "ungrateful bastard" and "I should lock you up in Azkaban for good", but the shouting, the yelling and the threatening looks that the man send him, were good enough for him.  
When he ended, he took a deep breath and said, "Auror training starts tomorrow, now get the hell out of my office before I change my damn mind."

* * *

**_A/N_: Starting from the next chapter, characters from the book will play a more significant role. This was just to introduce Sam and his background a little.**

**Encaitaire**


	3. Order Of The Phoenix

**Chapter 2  
The Order Of The Phoenix**

_Three years passed. 1095 Days.  
Not much happened in between. I had a hard time with keeping track of everything, considering that I was both in auror training and still worked on the Patrol. (Dominus had said this was best, because this way I could get used to stress.) It is just a short time, three years, but in those days everything had changed. Nothing was as I knew it anymore.  
People disappeared. Even of the Patrol. My mother became more anxious by the day, asking me to quite. But I didn't want too. Now that becoming an auror was so close by, nothing could stop me. Not even the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. In fact, it seemed to motivate me even more. I was determined that I would be the one to stop him. That I would be the one to put an end to all this.  
I told this to Mr. Dominus as well. I don't know if he took me seriously or not, but he _did_ team me up with Alastor Moodey. We didn't have an actual job description, didn't really know what we should do. All we knew was that we had to do 'something' against 'You Know Who', and that was basically it. We were just thrown in the deep...___

* * *

England as the Wizards had always known it, had changed drastically.  
Their were two major groups that were each other's archenemies. Those who followed the Dark Lord and those who didn't. However, the thing that made entire England so unstable was that no one really knew who belonged with whom. Was your best friend really against He Who Must Not Be Named, or did he only say so to win your trust? And how could you be sure that your neighbour, that always disappeared around the time a Dark Mark appeared somewhere in the country, was a Death Eater?  
No one knew and no one dared to ask, afraid of the consequences.  
It was all rather secretive.  
The best way to go, was to support Voldemort. Well, not necessarily _support_ him, but just not question his actions. Just don't publicly announce that you think that what he's doing is wrong. And whenever asked: That man was the smartest wizard ever to be born and he was just doing what everyone had wanted to do years ago, but no one had ever managed to have the guts for it.  
Whether you stood behind this statement or not, it was what kept you alive.  
Besides, it was somewhat of a taboo to be against him. If you were, you were probably one of them Mudbloods, or you'd married one or something. Whatever the case, you weren't supporting the party that should be supported. The Purebloods. The one that had the most right to be Wizards and Witches because they had passed this wonderful gift from generation to generation. They were the survivors.  
The Mudbloods, that just came about, were accidents. They weren't supposed to be Witches or Wizards. Why else would their parents be Muggles?  
They all knew that Voldemort and his followers were killing people. They all knew that he was trying to get control over entire England and most of them even realized that it was wrong. But how could they do something about it? They didn't know who agreed with him or not, and they certainly wouldn't want to speak of their doubts to the wrong people and be the next one found under a Dark Mark.  
The Ministry was doing their best to control the situation. Unfortunately, Mr. Bagnold (the current minister of magic), wasn't the best thing that had ever happened to England. He was rather indecisive and insecure.  
So, when people secretly thought '_I hope this is all over soon_', their sympathy went out for those who risked their life each and every day fighting the Dark Lord. Their sympathy went out to the Aurors, even to those of the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol, to Albus Dumbledore and his followers... who were doing the very things they wished they could do, if they weren't so damn scared.  
One man who was considered to be one of Voldemort's worst enemies, was Alastor Moodey. He made no secret of what he thought of the Dark Lord, and was therefore shunned by most. And by the others, he was hunted.  
He was an Auror, had been for many, many years and though he himself considered to be on the way back down he was still one of the best out there.  
He had been fighting You Know Who from the very beginning. From when he was still alone, had no followers and seemed a minor threat in the eyes of the Ministry. They gravely miscalculated, but who could blame them? Every once in a while somebody popped up, claiming that he would take over England. Other than a few exceptions, they all failed. How could they have known that Voldemort would be one of those exceptions?  
He took a deep breath and sat down on his chair. He hated himself for not stopping Voldemort earlier, now it seemed to be nearly impossible. He had too many people supporting him now.  
He looked at this friend Dumbledore, who looked equally worried.  
"Sometimes I wonder," Alastor said slowly, "what we're doing this for. Why we're going through all this trouble, when almost entire England doesn't seem to mind that _he_ is here."  
It remained quiet for a long time. '_Perhaps Albus silently agrees_,' he thought bitterly. That would truly be something. Albus Dumbledore that gave up. If that would be so, this was a lost cause for sure.  
"We are doing this because somebody needs to do it," his friend said. "Only a small part of England really agrees with _him_, the others just follow him because they are frightened. And they should be. As of now, we are their only hope."  
Before Alastor could say anything in reply, an owl swooped in and dropped a message on his lap.

'_Moodey, get here now. We need you in the office. No more excuses, if you're not here in ten minutes, you'll wish you were never born._

_Sincerely,_

_Mr. Dominus_.'

"Damn," he cursed. "I really need to go, I'm sorry, Albus."  
Albus just smiled, "that's fine, my friend. Don't forget about the meeting this evening."  
Alastor nodded but before he disapparated he gave his old friend a warning look, "don't do anything rash. Wait until I get back before... well... you know."  
"You have my word," Albus said solemnly and watched with a frown as Alastor disapparated, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

* * *

Sam was feeling like he was in Seventh Heaven. He had passed all his tests and his three years of training were over, he would finally become what he had worked so hard! An Auror!  
"You're one lucky bastard," Mark said to him, feeling somewhat jealous. He'd probably be stuck here forever. '_But then again_,' he reminded himself, '_I didn't want it as bad as Sam._' And he should be happy for his friend.  
Sam grinned while he put all of his belongings in a big carton box. Yes, he was. Who would have known! A boy who left Hogwarts with mediocre grades now belonged to England's finest and most smartest of wizards. He was sure that the upcoming years would be a lot more interesting than the last eight years.  
And he was right... though afterwards, he probably wished he had just remained working at the MLEP. How more simple life had been then. How less complicated, and better.  
Now, however, it all seemed brilliant and great. It seemed like God was finally doing him a favor.  
"I heard it doesn't pay much, though," Mark couldn't stop himself from saying.  
Sam shrugged, "no one working on the Patrol ever became a millionaire."  
Mark sighed. Though he didn't want to admit it, he was going to miss Sam, a lot. Now he was left with that damned Elmer and the oldies. '_Good Lord_,' he suddenly thought, shocked, '_Now I have no one to dump the crappy assignments on_!'  
That would mean that _he_ would have to do it! This was not fair!  
Sam, seeing his friend's mood change and guessing the reason, grinned even wider. That would teach him for being lazy those past few years. "Yes, Mark," he said, patting his friend on the back. "You may actually have to _work_ now."  
Mark gasped.

* * *

Alastor glared at the young boy.  
It almost seemed like he was trying to fry poor Sam with his gaze by just staring long enough. He suddenly understood why Alastor was such a well respected auror. If he'd been a bad guy and had to face that man in a duel, he would have run as fast as he could, hoping that the man wouldn't follow.  
No, Moodey wasn't happy. Not even close. He was pissed and he was going to kill Dominus. After he was done torturing him, that was. It was worse enough when Dominus had told him that he would yet again be teamed up with someone else, under the motto that they needed every help they could get.  
But teaming him up with a toddler! That was just a downright insult. Not to mention - and this was what infuriated him the most - was that this was Smith's boy. This horrible, stinking excuse of a wizard before him was the offspring of the man he hated the most (outside of You Know Who, that was).  
"So," he said slowly, staring at the boy.  
Sam managed a smile, hoping to lift the atmosphere a little. Unfortunately, this only worked backwards. Alastor's expression became even harder and he crossed his arms, "so an attitude too, heh?"  
Sam was a little taken aback by this. Last time he checked, smiling was considered to be friendly, not arrogant. He frowned and mirrored the old man's stance. He tried hard to think of something witty to say, but couldn't come up with anything so instead he decided to just glare at the man before him in a threatening matter. Hoping that this would somewhat intimidate him.  
Unfortunately Alastor seemed unaffected by it.  
"Let's get one thing straight, boy," he said gruffly. "I did not want a partner and don't need one either, I'm only doing this 'cause I'm ordered to do so. Don't bother me when I'm working, and don't try to put in any of your own ideas either. I'm not interested in them. Just do what you think you need to do, just keep your nose out of _my_ investigation."  
A long silence settled in between them as Alastor let his words sink in.  
Sam blinked a few times in confusion, failing to find a suitable reply and repeating Alastor's words in his head to make sure he hadn't misunderstood him. He finally decided that he hadn't. '_Who the Hell does he think he is_?' he thought angrily as he looked at him. No wonder his father despised him so much.  
He cleared his throat. "If I'm not mistaken, Moodey," he said icily, "this is _our_ investigation, not yours, we were both assigned to do the same thing."  
Alastor couldn't help but feeling somewhat impressed by this. He hadn't expected for Sam to stand up to him like this, he didn't look tough enough.  
"And considering we are partners," Sam continued, "I am forced to bother you when you're working and I have no choice but to put in some of my own ideas as well. If this is too much for you to handle, you can take your complaints to Mr. Dominus."  
He'd hit something there, though he wasn't sure what.  
Alastor clenched his fists and then, without saying another word, turned around and left. Yes, Dominus _was_ going to die. He was sure of it now. He would die a very slow, painful and horrible death.

* * *

His mind wasn't set to it, not at all.  
He found himself constantly rethinking the events of this afternoon, even though right now much more important things were discussed. There were several men seated in the small office of professor Dumbledore - who would take over the position of Headmaster next year - all with grim and solemn expressions on their face. All of them were slightly anxious, wondering who was listening along and if everyone in this room was indeed their ally.  
Frank Longbottom spoke first. "I think we all agree that this can not go any longer."  
Everyone murmured their agreements.  
Frank was a colleague of Alastor and he had personally asked him to come to this meeting, knowing very well what Frank thought of You Know Who. He'd brought his wife, Alice, along as well.  
"What then," he asked, "do you suggest that we should do?"  
"Good question, Alastor!" Albus replied for him, a twinkle in his eye. "I have thought long and hard on this myself and I think I have found the answer for it, though I need your support in it."  
He let all of this sink in for a moment.  
"I trust, when I say this, that everyone in this room is against Voldemort."  
A slight shudder ran through the room. Though the fear of the Dark Lord's name was not as great as it would be later on, people already didn't like the sound of his name and instead preferred to call him 'You Know Who' and 'He Who Must Not Be Named'.  
"Of course," Dorcas Meadows chimed in. She worked at the Department of International Magical Cooperation, she had been greatly worried when she'd heard the news that Voldemort had reached the giants and had somehow persuaded them to come to England. Something which had caused great havoc at her department because they had spent weeks in trying to find out whether this was illegal or not and whether this fell under the control of the Department of Regulation & Control of Magical Creatures. (they had not wanted to step on anyone's toes and giants were known for their tempers. They did not know whether they disliked to be called 'Magical Creatures' or not)  
Despite of all the trouble it had caused in the Ministry, it had also scared Dorcas somewhat, because she knew that this was a great victory on Voldemort's part and she found that he had already too much of an influence over everyone as it was. She had contacted Dumbledore - considering he was the only one she really trusted and Bagnold would have probably shrugged his shoulders to the whole ordeal - and he had invited her to the meeting this evening.  
When everyone had more or less acknowledged this statement, Albus continued.  
"We have relied on the strength of the Ministry long enough," he said, "I think it is time we try something for ourselves. It is time for us to take a stand."  
Alastor smiled, already knowing of his friend's plan and wondering how everyone here would reply to it.  
"Let us do what Voldemort has all these years done to _us_. Let us spread insecurity amongst his followers, let us try to stop their plans. And eventually, try to stop Voldemort all together."  
Sturgis frowned, not really sure if he wanted to be involved in this. Yes, he did not like Voldemort, but trying to stop him all together? That meant great, great risks. That meant his life would be at stake!  
"This means," Albus said, giving Sturgis Podmore an amused look, "that we indeed have to risk our lives, but we have to do _something_. We can not just let this go on, as Frank said a few moments ago. Let us unite and fight him and his followers."  
"But there are so few of us," Dorcas protested. There were about ten people in the room, and ten weren't nearly enough to even track down and fight one of that damned Death Eaters.  
"There are more, who could not make it tonight," Alastor grunted. "And more will join once the word gets out, I am sure of it."  
Frank and Alice exchanged looks.  
"Well," Alice said eventually, in a light tone, "I don't see why this is any different from my usual daily routine."  
Alastor smiled at her, she was one of the only female Aurors at the office, and a damn good one at that. He was glad to have her here with them. Frank grinned and nodded, "indeed."  
After that, everyone in the room agreed.  
"There will be a time," Albus said, with a smile on his face. "That this day will be remembered as the day that the Order of the Phoenix was founded!"

* * *

_I never knew of the existence of the Order. At least, not the first few years. After a while I heard of it, during the time that I was undercover. Death Eaters loathed them. Which is logical, of course, considering they were each other's worst enemies.  
They weren't entirely sure of who was in the Order and who wasn't, but of some they did know. And they usually hunted them down and tried to kill them. I confronted Alastor about it, a few months afterwards, and he told me the entire story. Of how it came to be. Albus had been succesfully fighting against Grindelwald for many, many years and in this time he had formed a group of friends whom he trusted greatly.  
Among them were Sturgis Podmore, Dorcas Meadows, Caradoc Dearborn, Elphias Doge and Alastor himself, of course. When the Dark Lord was rising, they contacted each other once more and stayed in touch afterwards, waiting for when a right time would come to join forces again and fight him.  
This happened on the 13th of November, 1972. They came together, along with some friends, and formed the Order of the Phoenix.  
Though Alastor told me about everyone that was in the Order, including names and backgrounds, I never gave this away to anyone - despite what people may think. Even when things started spinning out of control I did not. I have done inexcusable things, these past few years, but never have I played through any information given to me by Moodey or any of his friends._

* * *

**A/N: **Thanks to both Ruschen, Moon Archer and Miss Sera for reviewing :).  
As for Professor McGonnagal: Perhaps things are a little unclear at the moment, and I agree with you that my writing isn't the best but I am improving as I go. You will understand more of the story as time goes by. As for the people who were introduced and their significance to the story, well, this is Sam's story. This is how the world once was to him, before he messed up and lost it all. It is important to know him, to understand him, before we reach the end of the story.  
I tried to put a bit less dialogue in this one. Apparently, my texts are always a bit dialogue-heavy. In the future this will change (I hope), right now, just bear with me.  
When Future Sam is talking, text is written in italics, and in a seperate paragrahp. Hope this is all clear to everyone.

I know the update is _long_ overdue and I know it is a short chapter. But I'll promise I'll update more regularly in the future. It was just that I had to do some more research for this chapter, concerning whom worked where and who joined the Order and who didn't etcetera, etcetera. I've also revised a great deal of the first chapter. (meaning the actual first chapter, not the prologue.)  
Anyways, I kind of decided that Sirius, James, Lily and Remus would join later on. So you won't see them for the next couple of chapters but they will definitely make an appearance later on.


End file.
